


The Rhythm Of War

by CalamityCain



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bondage, Dubious Consent, Gags, M/M, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Tony bent to lick the heat off Loki’s smooth back as he ground to the rhythm of growling riffs in his head.</i>
</p>
<p>Loki's initiation into the music of Black Sabbath is not quite what he'd have expected~</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rhythm Of War

**Author's Note:**

> (Written for no other reason than to indulge my kink to the maximum. This is a purely indulgent romp; you have been warned)

He woke to blindness, the taste of cloth, and the grind of guitars.

Loki struggled against his bonds. The strain of leather against his limbs told him his legs were locked in the most submissive of positions: spread, locked in place, ready to be taken. His arms were pinioned firmly behind his back, rendering his shoulders immovable. Some soft thick fabric blindfolded him and muffled his quickening breaths. His magic would be lessened somewhat without the use of his tongue, but he could still enchant the leather straps into dust…could, that is, except the music was drowning his senses in a miasma of growling discordant sounds.

It was the headphones – the audio-transmitting contraption Tony was occasionally fond of – assaulting his ears and holding his senses prisoner. The volume is turned almost to maximum. Against the worry of his eardrums turning to mush, Loki forced himself to calm down and wondered how he landed in this position. Then he remembered the absinthe of last night. Ah yes. That marvellous substance, wormwood, that was found only on Earth and that crawled into his bloodstream like no other liquor could.

The thrice-damned combination of wormwood (more than Midgardian laws allowed, according to Tony), a bottleful of alcohol, and his tendency to go for several days without sleep had tumbled him from his usual light slumber and allowed him to be taken captive by his sometimes-lover.

Stark was known for ‘pushing it’ as the mortals said. So be it, he fumed; the man of iron would find he was no match for a god.

Then he felt the hand on his back, and a familiar hardness against his thighs.

The headphones were nudged off a little. “Enjoying it?”

Loki would not grace him with so much as a stifled grunt.

“It’s called War Pigs. A Sabbath classic. You’ll learn to love it; battles for power, destruction, right up your alley.” The hard cock teased him and threatened to ride him coarsely like a beast. Tony’s fingers moved to bite down on his arms as if to emphasize his helplessness.

Loki trembled just a little.

Tony nibbled lightly on his earlobe. “Now,” his captor whispered, “let’s turn things up a notch, shall we?”

Then the earphones came back down, and the music drowned out all else. Loki could feel nothing and everything: blackness, drums, the wail of endless electric notes, the quick cool smear of lubricant between his legs and then – oh mighty Valhall – a second of white-hot pain that blossomed into pleasure, and Tony, Tony, nothing but Tony, hard and huge and relentless inside him.

He tried to dissolve his bonds. Tried to see through the blindfold. He failed. Spells rose and fell apart in his head, rendered immobile by the music and Stark’s hot, surprisingly well-muscled arms holding him down as the man rutted into him like an animal. Against his will he moaned into the gag. Blood rushed into his loins, forcing him to grind his hips into the sheets to relieve his own stiffness. Blackness, pounding, blindness, wordless, Stark, Stark, Stark, _faster, faster, no, please, please stop no please yes._ Sensory deprivation. Sensory overload. Hand in hand. The world was a lightless ocean that spared not even gods.

Tony bent to lick the heat off Loki’s smooth back as he ground to the rhythm of growling riffs in his head. He felt himself coming despite his best efforts to delay it. The sight of it all was just too much: the enemy he had feared and fought and then loved so eagerly spread in a futile struggle, a taut, marble-white vessel for his lust. The soft whimpers escaping the well-fastened cloth gag only stoked his blood to boiling point. He climaxed; his groan as is explosive as the buck of his hips. Loki’s whole body stiffened wildly – then melted into the damp crumpled sheets, sweat-slicked and mindless.

Tony collapsed beside him and removed the headphones. The blindfold followed. Then the bindings that had forced the long legs apart. He rolled Loki over onto his back as the god’s glazed eyes fell upon his with their usual startling greenness.

He kissed Loki through the gag. Tenderly at first, then hungrily. Loki, unable to reciprocate (or perhaps bite back), grew incensed. The fabric had been knotted in the middle so that the knot wedged itself between Loki’s teeth to still his tongue, while another layer was wrapped snugly over his lips.

“I love you baby.”

_“Mmfffhh.”_

Tony was ready to snuggle down, but Loki’s unnaturally arched back reminded him that the latter’s had not been freed. Although…the sight of that flawless form so bent in an arc, nipples tantalizingly offered to the ceiling, made him hungry all over again.

Then looked a little further down and realised Loki was still hard.

Achingly, terribly hard.

“You know,” Tony said, lusty eyes lit by the arc reactor, “I think that missile has my name on it.”

And he proceeded to impale himself on Loki’s erection.

His discomfort coupled with the naked, well-tanned billionaire riding his hips rocked his body with sharp new waves of pleasure. The man’s little-used crevice was tight and hot around his cock. Every movement stroked his nerves with electric perfection. Every push drew unwilling, muffled cries from beneath the tightly wound gag, each cry more desperate than the last.

Through the haze of his forcefully induced bliss, Loki managed to jerk his head in the direction of the headphones. Tony’s narrowed eyes widened in surprise.

“You want…?” he gasped. Loki nodded.

The trickster god, all out of tricks, closed his bright green eyes as the exquisite device sealed off the world once more. There were two seconds of silence. Then the grinding symphony began.

Slowly. Slow. Fast. Fast. _Faster. Faster. More. More._ MORE. Power was nothing and hurt was nothing, and all that remained was sensation. The slap of flesh against flesh. The liquor-laced groans of an iron man bereft of his iron. The half-silenced pleas of a captive god of chaos.

And through it all, the relentless rhythm of war drums.

 

~


End file.
